


And bouts of fear permeate all I see

by PatternsInTheIvy



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Acrophobia, Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Kidnapping, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Panic Attacks, Prompt Fill, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28925298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatternsInTheIvy/pseuds/PatternsInTheIvy
Summary: Fear, phobia, is like a ghost presence that haunts him; it’s always there, in the background, mocking him. Every time he comes down from the panic—or near panic—of being exposed to heights, he tells himself that next time he will be stronger, that he will be able to control this irrational thing. Every time he knows what a lie that is.Or, the one where Murdoc knows about Mac's acrophobia.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	And bouts of fear permeate all I see

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!  
> This was originally posted for a prompt fill on tumblr. 
> 
> The prompts were "obsession" and Mac, and this is what I came up with. 
> 
> The title was stolen from the song _Panic Attack_ by Dream Theater.

Glancing at the rearview mirror, Mac has no time to react to the fact that something—a shadow, _someone_ —just moved in the backseat. Before he can think of using the keys to defend himself, or of opening the door of his car and _getting out_ , before he can even let go of the wheel, that looming shadow reaches out, and then his world is reduced to pain, overwhelming and everywhere, like there are bees crawling through his skin.

He slumps forward, temple connecting with the stirring wheel with a noise that somehow gets past the ringing in his ears, and the sensation of his body shaking, out of control and hurting. His muscles won’t obey any attempt to move and all he can do is lie there, watching the deserted parking lot outside as the world blurs out of focus. Before consciousness leaves him, Mac hears a muttered and cheerful “oops”, followed by the sound of the car doors being opened and then closed.

** ** **

A faint breeze on the skin of his face is the first thing that Mac notices when he wakes up. The wind is cool, but not uncomfortably so—that is the least of his worries—what is distressing is the fact that Mac woke up and opened his eyes to darkness, to the pressure of a blindfold over his eyes, and of binds against his chest and arms. His hands are behind his back and the biting pressure against his wrists is enough to tell him that they are being secured by zip ties. There is something pressing against the inside of his elbows as if he were tied to a plank. Around his heels, he can feel more restraints.

Whoever did this was thorough.

His muscles—arms, legs, back—are sore, and in the region his neck connects to his right shoulder there is a point of concentrated stinging sensation. The last memory he has is of getting inside his car and then seeing a movement in the rearview mirror, a shadow moving in the backseat, and then nothing. He moves his head, trying to knock the blindfold loose, and there is a dull pain on the left side of his head.

All of those things are enough to put together the picture of what’s happened—he was kidnapped from inside his own car, and Jack won’t let him hear the end of it…

Straining his ears, Mac tries to find out if there is anyone there, but the only sounds he hears are voices that seem to be distant, the occasional noise of tires against the asphalt, and nothing else. Deciding that he is probably alone, he starts to check how well he is bound, first testing the zip ties tying his hands, and when the force he puts into the movement of trying to free himself from those proves to be useless, he proceeds to squirm and twist in the bounds that hold his entire body.

“You probably wouldn’t believe me, Angus, but struggling like that won’t do you any good.”

Mac startles at that and he does stop moving, a sigh escaping him when he hears _that_ voice. Of course, he should have known. He fights to control his breath, to ignore the way his heart beats furiously. Maybe if he doesn’t acknowledge it, Murdoc won’t notice how much this whole situation scares him.

“What do you want this time, Murdoc?” Mac is proud that his voice doesn’t crack at that, and he hopes that any tension in his tone can pass off as annoyance instead of fear.

“Many things, MacGyver—it’s nice of you to ask that—but tonight, I just want to prove a point.”

“What point?” he wants to keep Murdoc talking, his attempts of freeing his hands restarting anew.

“You don’t seem to fear me,” Murdoc says, his voice now sounds closer than before, he’s probably just beside Mac, “not as much as you should, at least. You enter your car without checking the backseat, you still live in that lovely house I know the address of… well, all that fearlessness started to feel a bit disrespectful.”

Mac shakes his head, trying to ignore Murdoc. Truth is, all this talking gets on his nerves, it makes him feel creeped out, because he can’t understand what the hell is going on in the man’s brain.

“So I started to ask people about you. I wanted to know more about you, of course, and that’s how I learned about your little _difficulty_ with heights.”

Mac inhales sharply, _no, no, no_ , that can’t be happening. Please, _not this_.

Fear, _phobia_ , is like a ghost presence that haunts him; it’s always there, in the background, mocking him. Every time he comes down from the panic—or near panic—of being exposed to heights, he tells himself that next time he will be stronger, that he will be able to control this irrational thing. Every time he knows what a lie that is.

And right now he doesn’t feel like that, not at all. His heart is rabbiting inside his chest already at the mere thought of being in a high place, and he knows that it will only get worse, that he can’t be stronger than this gripping fear, that he’s about to lose control and, God, that can’t happen now, not in front of Murdoc, of all people—how did he even learn about this?

He wants out of this, out of these bonds, he wants someone there to get him out of this, to stop him from spiraling down… this is something that he can’t deal with rationally.

There is a long pause and Mac feels a touch on the back of his head, where the blindfold is tied.

“I suppose I’m about to find out.”

The blindfold is removed from his eyes, and all of those things get more intense. His breath catches in his throat as he glances down—the ground is so, so far away, the lights from cars and street lamps look tiny, the ground seems to move away from him, even farther as he keeps looking, unable to avert his eyes.

At that moment, there is nothing else but the height, he barely pays attention to anything else in his surroundings, all that matters is that he is up here, and he can’t free himself, get away from the edge of wherever he is. To his fear, it doesn’t really matter if he’s a dozen feet away from the ground, or standing on the top of the Burj Khalifa.

And he hates this fear, how it makes him feel absolute, all-encompassing terror, how it robs him of all control, makes him powerless, leaves him vulnerable to anything—because this is one thing that would have him asking, to _please stop_ …

His mouth and his throat are parched when he tries to swallow. Past the roaring in his ears that muffles everything around, there are the sounds of footsteps shuffling. This is bad, worse than it has ever happened, because this is just his fear being weaponized against him, and there is no one beside him to make a joke, to calm him down. There is only him, his heart that feels like it’s going to burst from his chest, the burning in his lungs, sweat running down his nape, drenching his shirt.

Mac raises his head, straining his neck to not look down, and his peripheral vision is still enough for him to notice the height, and although he doesn’t want to, he closes his eyes—even though _Murdoc_ is there, the irrational part of his brain, the one that took over his body, tells him that it’s better to close his eyes to any threat except the distance between him and the ground.

“There it is,” Murdoc says, “what I wanted to see.”

The breeze against his body, through his shirt wet with sweat, makes Mac tremble. He wants to use that sensation to anchor himself to his body, stop the way he feels lightheaded, almost floating away, and at the same time, he just wants to continue like that, stranded away, out of a place or a time, otherwise, it just feels like he is going to die…

“Come on, open those eyes.”

Shaking his head, Mac presses his eyes shut, and then there is the sound of metal scraping against metal, like screws being loosened. The next thing he knows, he feels the disorienting sensation of falling forward, and a violent pull as the movement is abruptly stopped. On impulse, he opens his eyes. Murdoc is there, smiling, his dark eyes boring into Mac with interest and fascination.

“Call this exposition therapy, I read all about it,” Murdoc pauses, tilts his head, “I’m not sure if it is helping, though—well, it didn’t hurt to try.”

Dread keeps flowing through his veins, too much adrenaline preparing his body to either fight or flight, but all he can do is stand there, struggle in those restraints, and the insides of his elbows hurt from the way they press against the hard surface he’s tied to. His body is pressing against the bindings over his chest; with the way his body is angled, all his weight is falling against them, and it hurts.

Half of his body is over the edge, he notices that once Murdoc steps away. Those restraints are the only thing keeping him from falling, and that realization makes Mac freeze, muscles locking painfully. He is panting, trying to regain any control over his breath, but he can’t, that isn’t enough to pull him out—

“That look in your eyes was just,” Murdoc trails off and inhales.

While Murdoc talks, Mac closes his eyes again, keeps them that way, hyperaware of the way the back of his head tingles, and of that coolness that involves his body.

“I wonder what else I will need to do to see that again,” there is a beeping noise that makes him pause, “but that is something for the next time.”

That threat—it sounds like a promise—has a new kind of dread taking over him.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know, I just think that the idea of Murdoc knowing about Mac's acrophobia is... very nice.


End file.
